I
WAS born in a small New England village of about seven thousand
souls. The general moral standard was, as I recall it, far
above the average. No beer or liquor was sold in the neighborhood,
except at the State liquor agency where perhaps one might
procure a pint if he could convince the agent that he really
needed it. Without this proof the expectant purchaser would
be forced to depart empty handed with none of what I later
came to believe was the great panacea for all human ills.
Men who had liquor shipped in from Boston or New York by
express were looked upon with great distrust and disfavor
by most of the good townspeople. The town was well supplied
with churches and schools in which I pursued my early educational
activities.
My father was a professional
man of recognized ability and both my father and mother
were most active in church affairs. Both father and mother
were considerably above the average in intelligence.
Unfortunately for me
I was the only child, which perhaps engendered the selfishness
which played such an important part in bringing on my alcoholism.
From childhood through
high school I was more or less forced to go to church, Sunday
School and evening service, Monday night Christian Endeavor
and sometimes to Wednesday evening prayer meeting. This
had the effect of making me resolve that when I was free
from parental domination, I would never again darken the
doors of a church. This resolution I kept steadfastly for
the next forty years, except when circumstances made it
seem unwise to absent myself.

After high school came
four years in one of the best colleges in the country where
drinking seemed to be a major extra-curricular activity.
Almost everyone seemed to do it. I did it more and more,
and had lots of fun without much grief, either physical
or financial. I seemed to be able to snap back the next
morning better than most of my fellow drinkers, who were
cursed (or perhaps blessed) with a great deal of morning-after
nausea. Never once in my life have I had a headache, which
fact leads me to believe that I was an alcoholic almost
from the start. My whole life seemed to be centered around
doing what I wanted to do, without regard for the rights,
wishes, or privileges of anyone else; a state of mind which
became more and more predominant as the years passed. I
was graduated with "summa cum laude" in the eyes of the
drinking fraternity, but not in the eyes of the Dean.
The next three years
I spent in Boston, Chicago, and Montreal in the employ of
a large manufacturing concern, selling railway supplies,
gas engines of all sorts, and many other items of heavy
hardware. During these years, I drank as much as my purse
permitted, still without paying too great a penalty, although
I was beginning to have morning "jitters" at times. I lost
only a half day's work during these three years.

My next move was to
take up the study of medicine, entering one of the largest
universities in the country. There I took up the business
of drinking with much greater earnestness than I had previously
shown. On account of my enormous capacity for beer, I was
elected to membership in one of the drinking societies,
and soon became one of the leading spirits. Many mornings
I have gone to classes, and even though fully prepared,
would turn and walk back to the fraternity house because
of my jitters, not daring to enter the classroom for fear
of making a scene should I be called on for recitation.
This went from bad to
worse until sophomore spring when, after a prolonged period
of drinking, I made up my mind that I could not complete
my course, so I packed my grip and went South and spent
a month on a large farm owned by a friend of mine. When
I got the fog out of my brain, I decided that quitting school
was very foolish and that I had better return and continue
my work. When I reached school, I discovered the faculty
had other ideas on the subject. After much argument they
allowed me to return and take my exams, all of which I passed
creditably. But they were much disgusted and told me they
would attempt to struggle along without my presence. After
many painful discussions, they finally gave me my credits
and I migrated to another of the leading universities of
the country and entered as a Junior that Fall.
There my drinking became
so much worse that the boys in the fraternity house where
I lived felt forced to send for my father, who made a long
journey in the vain endeavor to get me straightened around.
This had little effect however for I kept on drinking and
used a great deal more hard liquor than in former years.

Coming up to final exams
I went on a particularly strenuous spree. When I went in
to write the examinations, my hand trembled so I could not
hold a pencil. I passed in at least three absolutely blank
books. I was, of course, soon on the carpet and the upshot
was that I had to go back for two more quarters and remain
absolutely dry, if I wished to graduate. This I did, and
proved myself satisfactory to the faculty, both in deportment
and scholastically.
I conducted myself so
creditably that I was able to secure a much coveted internship
in a western city, where I spent two years. During these
two years I was kept so busy that I hardly left the hospital
at all. Consequently, I could not get into any trouble.
When those two years
were up, I opened an office downtown. Then I had some money,
all the time in the world, and considerable stomach trouble.
I soon discovered that a couple of drinks would alleviate
my gastric distress, at least for a few hours at a time,
so it was not at all difficult for me to return to my former
excessive indulgence.
By this time I was beginning
to pay very dearly physically and, in hope of relief, voluntarily
incarcerated myself at least a dozen times in one of the
local sanitariums. I was between Scylla and Charybdis now,
because if I did not drink my stomach tortured me, and if
I did, my nerves did the same thing. After three years of
this, I wound up in the local hospital where they attempted
to help me, but I would get my friends to smuggle me a quart,
or I would steal the alcohol about the building, so that
I got rapidlyworse.

Finally my father had
to send a doctor out from my home town who managed to get
me back there some way and I was in bed about two months
before I could venture out of the house. I stayed about
town a couple of months more and returned to resume my practice.
I think I must have been thoroughly scared by what had happened,
or by the doctor, or probably both, so that I did not touch
a drink again until the country went dry.
With the passing of
the Eighteenth Amendment I felt quite safe. I knew everyone
would buy a few bottles, or cases, of liquor as their exchequers
permitted, and it would soon be gone. Therefore it would
make no great difference, even if I should do some drinking.
At that time I was not aware of the almost unlimited supply
the government made it possible for us doctors to obtain,
neither had I any knowledge of the bootlegger who soon appeared
on the horizon. I drank with moderation at first, but it
took me only a relatively short time to drift back into
the old habits which had wound up so disastrously before.

During the next few
years, I developed two distinct phobias. One was the fear
of not sleeping, and the other was the fear of running out
of liquor. Not being a man of means, I knew that if I did
not stay sober enough to earn money, I would run out of
liquor. Most of the time, therefore, I did not take the
morning drink which I craved so badly, but instead would
fill up on large doses of sedatives to quiet the jitters,
which distressed me terribly. Occasionally, I would yield
to the the morning craving, but if I did, it would be only
a few hours before I would be quite unfit for work. This
would lessen my chances of smuggling some home that evening,
which in turn would mean a night of futile tossing around
in bed followed by a morning of unbearable jitters. During
the subsequent fifteen years I had sense enough never to
go to the hospital if I had been drinking, and very seldom
did I receive patients. I would sometimes hide out in one
of the clubs of which I was a member, and had the habit
at times of registering at a hotel under a fictitious name.
But my friends usually found me and I would go home if they
promised that I should not be scolded.
If my wife were planning
to go out in the afternoon, I would get a large supply of
liquor and smuggle it home and hide it in the coal bin,
the clothes chute, over door jambs, over beams in the cellar
and in cracks in the cellar tile. I also made use of old
trunks and chests, the old can container, and even the ash
container. The water tank on the toilet I never used, because
that looked too easy. I found out later that my wife inspected
it frequently. I used to put eight or twelve ounce bottles
of alcohol in a fur lined glove and toss it onto the back
airing porch when winter days got dark enough. My bootlegger
had hidden alcohol at the back steps where I could get it
at my convenience. Sometimes I would bring it in my pockets,
but they were inspected, and that became too risky. I used
also to put it up in four ounce bottles and stick several
in my stocking tops. This worked nicely until my wife and
I went to see Wallace Beery in "Tugboat Annie," after which
the pant-leg and stocking racket were out!
I will not take space
to relate all my hospital or sanitarium experiences.

During all this time
we became more or less ostracized by our friends. We could
not be invited out because I would surely get tight and
my wife dared not invite people in for the same reason.
My phobia for sleeplessness demanded that I get drunk every
night, but in order to get more liquor for the next night,
I had to stay sober during the day, at least up to four
o' clock. This routine went on with few interruptions for
seventeen years. It was really a horrible nightmare, this
earning money, getting liquor, smuggling it home, getting
drunk, morning jitters, taking large doses of sedatives
to make it possible for me to earn more money, and so on
ad nauseam. I used to promise my wife, my friends, and my
children that I would drink no more-promises which seldom
kept me sober even through the day, though I was very sincere
when I made them.
For the benefit of those
experimentally inclined, I should mention the so-called
beer experiment. When beer first came back, I thought that
I was safe. I could drink all I wanted of that. It was harmless;
nobody ever got drunk on beer. So I filled the cellar full,
with the permission of my good wife. It was not long before
I was drinking at least a case and a half a day. I put on
thirty pounds weight in about two months, looked like a
pig, and was uncomfortable from shortness of breath. It
then occurred to me that after one was all smelled up with
beer nobody could tell what had been drunk, so I began to
fortify my beer with straight alcohol. Of course, the result
was very bad, and that ended the beer experiment.

About the time of the
beer experiment I was thrown in with a crowd of people who
attracted me because of their seeming poise, health, and
happiness. They spoke with great freedom from embarrassment,
which I could never do, and they seemed very much at ease
on all occasions and appeared very healthy. More than these
attributes, they seemed to be happy. I was self conscious
and ill at ease most of the time, my health was at the breaking
point, and I was thoroughly miserable. I sensed they had
something I did not have, from which I might readily profit.
I learned that it was something of a spiritual nature, which
did not appeal to me very much, but I thought it could do
no harm. I gave the matter much time and study for the next
two and a half years, but still got tight every night nevertheless.
I read everything I could find, and talked to everyone who
I thought knew anything about it.
My good wife became
deeply interested and it was her interest that sustained
mine, though I at no time sensed that it might be an answer
to my liquor problem. How my wife kept her faith and courage
during all those years, I'll never know, but she did. If
she had not, I know I would have been dead a long time ago.
For some reason, we alcoholics seem to have the gift of
picking out the world's finest women. Why they should be
subjected to the tortures we inflicted upon them, I cannot
explain.

About this time a lady
called up my wife one Saturday afternoon, saying she wanted
me to come over that evening to meet a friend of hers who
might help me. It was the day before Mother's Day and I
had come home plastered, carrying a big potted plant which
I set down on the table and forthwith went upstairs and
passed out. The next day she called again. Wishing to be
polite, though I felt very badly, I said, "Let's make the
call," and extracted from my wife a promise that we would
not stay over fifteen minutes.
We entered her house
at exactly five o' clock and it was eleven fifteen when
we left. I had a couple of shorter talks with this man afterward,
and stopped drinking abruptly. This dry spell lasted for
about three weeks; Then I went to Atlantic City to attend
several days' meeting of a National Society of which I was
a member. I drank all the Scotch they had on the train and
bought several quarts on my way to the hotel. This was on
Sunday. I got tight that night, stayed sober Monday till
after the dinner and then proceeded to get tight again.
I drank all I dared in the bar, and then went to my room
to finish the job. Tuesday I started in the morning, getting
well organized by noon. I did not want to disgrace myself,
so I then checked out. I bought some more liquor on the
way to the depot. I had to wait some time for the train.
I remember nothing from then on until I woke up at a friend's
house, in a town near home. These good people notified my
wife, who sent my newly-made friend over to get me. He came
and got me home and to bed, gave me a few drinks that night,
and one bottle of beer the next morning.

That
was June 10, 1935, and that was my last drink. As I write
nearly six years have passed.
The question which might
naturally come into your mind would be: "what did the man
do or say that was different from what others had done or
said?" It must be remembered that I had read a great deal
and talked to everyone who knew, or thought they knew, anything
about the subject of alcoholism. This man was a man who
had experienced many years of frightful drinking, who had
had most all the drunkard's experience known to man, but
who had been cured by the very means I had been trying to
employ, that is to say, the spiritual approach. He gave
me information about the subject of alcoholism which was
undoubtedly helpful. Of far more importance was the fact
that he was the first living human with whom I bad ever
talked, who knew what he was talking about in regard to
alcoholism from actual experience. In other words, be talked
my language. He knew all the answers, and certainly
not because he had picked them up in his reading.
It is a most wonderful
blessing to be relieved of the terrible curse with which
I was afflicted. My health is good and I have regained my
self-respect and the respect of my colleagues. My home life
is ideal and my business is as good as can be expected in
these uncertain times.
I spend a great deal
of time passing on what I learned to others who want and
need it badly. I do it for four reasons:

1.
Sense of duty.
2. It is a pleasure
3. Because in so doing I am paying my debt to the man
who took time to pass it on to me.
4. Because every time I do it I take out a little more
insurance for myself against a possible slip.

Unlike
most of our crowd, I did not get over my craving for liquor
much during the first two and one-half years of abstinence.
It was almost always with me. But at no time have I been
anywhere near yielding. I used to get terribly upset when
I saw my friends drink and knew I could not, but I schooled
myself to believe that though I once had the same privilege,
I had abused it so frightfully that it was withdrawn. So
it doesn't behoove me to squawk about it, for after all,
nobody ever used to throw me down and pour any liquor down
my throat.
If you think you are
an atheist, an agnostic, a skeptic, or have any other form
of intellectual pride which keeps you from accepting what
is in this book, I feel sorry for you. If you still think
you are strong enough to beat the game alone, that is your
affair. But if you really and truly want to quit drinking
liquor for good and all, and sincerely feel that you must
have some help, we know that we have an answer for you.
It never fails if you go about it with one half the zeal
you have been in the habit of showing when getting another
drink.